Eternal Kiss
by ThievesOverBullies
Summary: A/U-Lord Oliver Arrowhead is not your typical rich Nobleman. He has a thirst that must be quenched.(On Hiatus.)
1. Chapter 1

_**(A/N-This is a remake of another fic I was working on. I want to thank someone special who beta read the first few chapters. This is a time piece set somewhere in the 1800s. Mistakes are mine.)**_

Lord Oliver of Arrowhead had decided!

He had chosen her weeks earlier, at the time of the fall harvest. She was sturdy of limb and solid of body, and went about her tasks with the slow moving grace typical of her peasant ancestry. Last week, he had learned that she was called Samantha.

Oliver studied her from afar, always from the protection of the shadows, trying to decide if her character was calm as her appearance. The last thing he needed was a woman possessed of too much imagination. He wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to control his impulse to mate. Even so, despite the cresting urgency of his need, he was unwilling to slake his thirst for sexual release at the risk of almost certain death for his partner.

Once the decision was made that Samantha would be the one, he found himself praying to a god he only believed in periodically. The words poured from him unbidden as he prepared to sleep. Please god, he whispered in the cruel, blinding light of dawn. Let her survive the mating. Let her accept me and live.

If he had dared, he would have prayed for her to survive the birth that would inescapably follow, but Oliver's god, if he existed, was a harsh one, not giving to granting his most sought after wish. Oliver prayed for Samantha's survival. He refused to think of the day, eleven months from the mating, when his son would be born, and Samantha would die.

Her parents accepted his offer and gave their daughter by their own free will to him, honored to also serve their lord. Their questions about the precise role Samantha would play in his household were stilled by Oliver's coins had paid to them. He had not been shocked by their behavior. Oliver had learned early on that dire poverty and strict morality could rarely blend. Hunger stilled even the most active conscience, and his teachings had trained him to take advantage of this human weakness. The Vampire survived in large part due to human frailty.

Samantha had adapted well to her new home, and he decided that she was indeed, a suitable candidate for a successful mating. He chose the night of their joining with care, waiting for the moon to ebb, and a rush of thunderstorms to pass.

He looked forward to the moment when he could notify the Council Elders that he had mated again, and that the human female had survived it. He knew such an experience was rare, and he anticipated boasting of his success at the next regional gathering of Vampires.

The night appointed for their joining arrived slowly. Samantha came to him shortly before the midnight hour, bathed and clothed by his housekeeper in a traditional green silk robe, dyed the color of the Vampire sun.

Earlier he had heard her screams as she had been washed thoroughly to remove the grime from her. Horrifying, her screams had excited him, and he felt the tingle of desire explode in the sensitive sacs already beginning to bulge in the roof of his mouth.

Oliver made himself calm down. He reminded himself that he was disciplined, caring and honorable. He had spent the last year training himself for this moment, amending for the death of the last female he had mounted. There would be no mishaps tonight, he had vowed to himself on numerous occasions. He would prove that humans who mated with Vampires could survive it.

The candles flickered in a draft of air blowing in through a crack in the casement window of his bedroom. Samantha shifted nervously from foot to foot as she stared at him. Even after her bathing, her skin was still dark from the years of exposure to the rays of the sun. Oliver visualized her darkness against his pallor and again the desire he felt, powerful, delicious, raced through him.

"Do not be afraid of me," he said, trying to speak softly and not sure if he succeeded. He moistened his dry lips. "Come closer, my dear. I promise that I will be very gentle with you." Even to his own ears, the promise sounded false to him, although he made it in total sincerity.

Slowly she edged toward him, her bare feet silent on the floor. He realized as she approached that she was shivering, her teeth clattering, her body convulsing. He hoped it was from the cold. God, how he hoped it was from the cold and not from fear of him. Hadn't he determined that from all the time spent studying her, that she was the one least likely to be overcome by irrational fear?

He drew her to him, running his hands over her face, pressing his erection against the softness of her belly. Desire seeped into every pore of his skin and every cell of his body. The saliva gathered in his mouth, bathing the buds that shielded his fangs in the fluid of sexuality. He felt the sacs swell with exquisite premonition of urgency. He swallowed, forcing himself back under control.

He realized that he was trembling, just like Samantha. The knowledge soothed him. Perhaps, like him, she was shivering from the onset of desire. Human females were capable of feeling desire, a study had been proven years back. It was another human trait that he had been trained to take advantage of.

But Oliver didn't want to take advantage of Samantha. He wanted to mate with her, that was all. "Why are you shivering?" he asked, "Are you cold?"

"No, lord," her voice cracked with fear, and Oliver felt a surge of rage. What was she frightened of? Why did she tremble? He hadn't done anything to her yet. Nothing, that is, safely stroke her cheek with gentle fingers.

If she was determined to wallow in irrational fears, there was little point in delaying further. Better to proceed and permit her to see that those fears were without foundation. He carried her over to the bed, and laid her against the pillows, stroking her hair from her dark eyes with tender fingers. He was proud of his self-control, proud of the fact he was able to resist the growing urge to lie down on top of her and sink his fangs deep into the gloriously tempting column of her throat. Reining in his rampant desire, he ran his hands across her breasts, parting the green mating robe, baring the sturdy outline of his body to his heated gaze.

The moment of irritation broke the hold he had maintained over his state of arousal. In a single surge of overwhelming force, his fangs expanded and broke through the sacs containing them, just as he felt the pressure of his erection build to a level that demanded immediate release.

Samantha saw his fangs at the same time she felt him press against the barrier of her virginity. She screamed in terror, a mindless cry that echoed and reechoed throughout his bedchamber. He felt her fear, absorbed it into himself through every one of his senses, vaguely aware that he no longer resented her fright, but actually welcomed it. The smell of her terror was the most potent aphrodisiac he had ever known, beyond anything he could have dreamed of in his most erotic youthful fantasy. He was swamped with the need to possess, to penetrate, to procreate.

Oliver thrust deep into Samantha's body, holding her hands above her head high, and falling upon her neck with a hunger that could not have been equaled by a lifetime of fasting. His fangs thrust deep into the skin of her throat and slipped into the smooth cartilage of her jugular. Ahh, what bliss! Her blood flowed warm, sweet and ambrosial over his tongue. He swallowed the exquisite nectar, drinking in her fragile essence as he thrust into her body, filling her with his seed. How wonderful it was that such a delight should also produce the happiness of a son, an heir, a Vampire child that Oliver would love and cherish, the grandson his other father had craved for so long.

The spasms of pleasure slowly ended, the ripples of his release convulsing him over and over again. The joining complete, he collapsed panting onto the limp body of his mate. He felt a great tenderness for her, even though she was a peasant girl. Mindful of his weight, he rolled away from her, drawing in great lungful's of refreshing air.

Still spent from the force of his mating, he made her a silent promise. During the next eleven months, he would see that she was afforded every possible kindness and luxury. He would tend to her needs, humor her slightest whim and shower her family with money. He owed her that much at least. As for the birth, he would not think of it.

"Samantha," he said, staring into the comforting darkness. "Samantha, I am indebted to you for the gift of your body. Ask for what reward you wish and I will try to give it to you."

She didn't reply. Overwhelmed by a sudden dreadful premonition, he rolled over and gazed down at the woman who had been his mate.

As soon as he turned, he saw the hideous wounds in her neck, the gaping slashes around which blood was already congealing in pathetic patches of sticky red. The euphoria of his mating dissipated into an icy sensation of dread.

"Samantha!" Her name rasped in his throat as he worked frantically to repair the damage wrought equally by his fangs and his mindless lust. He willed her to wake up, to survive the crimes he had wrought upon her terrified body. He tried to release his fangs again so that he could pour life storing fluid of sexual mating into her body, in exchange for the blood he had sucked from her with such reckless abandon. But his fangs had shriveled and retracted inside their protective sacs, and he knew it would be days, perhaps weeks, before that regenerated again.

Still, he could not bring himself to acknowledge the fatal finality of what he had done. He worked on her lifeless body for hours, striving with every art known to humankind and to the Vampire to return life to her lifeless body. In the end, as the sun rose and infiltrated the sanctuary of his bedchamber, he was forced to admit the truth. He had murdered Samantha. Worse yet, in his hearts of hearts, he had always known that the inevitable result of his mating would be precisely this, a human female, ordered no meaningful choice, surrendering her life to satisfy the sexual needs of an arrogant Vampire.

He had been a crass, conceited fool, Oliver decided. He was still young, barely a century old, and it usually took three or four hundred matings before a Vampire could control his lust sufficiently to mate successfully. Even then, accidents did occur, and the rate of impregnation was unreliable. Still, Oliver could not forgive himself. His youth and sexual inexperience might partly explain, but could never excuse, the willful arrogance of his behavior. Samantha had not deserved to die, even in the noble cause of creating a new generation of Vampire. Her life had a worth and value he was not at liberty to ignore.

In his efforts to revive Samantha, he had sewn up the jagged wounds in her throat, bathing the ripped flesh in his own to speed up the creation of new tissue. He had not been able to bring her back to life, but so great was the regenerative power of Vampire blood, that the loosen edges of her skin had knit together, hiding the evidence of the death he had caused. It would be quite easy to explain her death, which meant that he wouldn't have to leave. For that, he was glad. He had grown fond of this new life here, and proud of how he had turned this land that had been destitute, into a profitable vineyards for this estate. In the future, there would be no need for him to move, no need to cut the ties he had begun to make here, because no more humans would meet their deaths at his hands.

Touching the almost invisible scars on Samantha's neck, Oliver vowed that he would never again subject a human female to the dangers of his Vampire lust. Tonight, he had mated for the last time. He had murdered his last human female. Placing his hand on Samantha's silent heart, Oliver swore it.

 _The Dark Prince would never again seek a mate!_

 **(Okay, so this story will have dark moments at times, a death or two. But I promise no major character death!)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**(A/N-Special thanks to a friend who beta read another version of this story for me. And thanks for all who read, review, follow and fav.)**_

Miss Felicity Smoak prided herself on possessing more than her fair share of British courage, and a positive deposition that inclined her to always look upon the brighter side of life, she got that she thinks from her father. But this day, finally, both courage and good cheer had deserted her.

The rain had been falling without letup for the past two days, and the tracks that the locals insisted upon calling roads had long since degenerated into oozing mud. From experience, she knew the sullen gray light would soon give way to impenetrable darkness, making travel hazardous to the point of madness.

Worst of all, a few minutes ago, the driver hired to take them to the Villa of the Three Fountains had suddenly stopped the carriage in the filths courtyard of a wayside inn, and refused to try to drive them any further. Felicity tried to protest, but the driver had simply unhitched the horses and disappeared into the darkness of a hut behind the inn. Despite her pleas, he had refused to come out, and the three extremely tired travelers had no other choice but to seek refuge in the tavern.

Her father and her maid Sharon walked in and looked around the taproom, met the hostile gaze of the inn keeper, and tried her best not to feel terrified. She would not surrender to hysterics just because they were lost, stranded in a hovel that barely deserved the name of the inn, abandoned in a remote region of Italy hovering on the brink of war at any moment.

The inn keeper watched them in calculating silence as they shook the worst of the rain from their cloaks and hoods and settled in the taproom. He now inches from behind the counter and bowed very low, his manner a strange mixture of hostility and submissive courtesy.

"Most gracious to you all, how many I be of service?" he asked in thick dialect.

"We need to hire a new carriage driver for the rest of our journey," Felicity answered in standard Italian, hoping he would understand.

His eyes gleamed as he rubbed his hands, "Most honored and excellent, signora, I am at your service." His voice tailed away and he looked pointedly at her purse.

Felicity sighed. They had very little money left now, and she was becoming desperate. She pulled a crown from the tiny travel pouch hidden at her waist and held it up.

The inn keeper snatched at the coin, and she moved it just out of his reach at the last second, aware that she'd taken a grave risk by letting him see that she carried money on her person. The poverty they had witnesses during the past week had been so appalling that she had lived in daily expectation of being murdered for their money.

She was shaking inside, but she forced herself to show no fear, "To earn this crown, you must tell me how to reach the Villa of the Three Fountains. You must also provide me with a driver who can take us there."

If she had not been watching so closely to make sure that he understood her Italian, she might not have noticed the tiny shudder, and the flicker of his eyelids at the mention of the villa. Then his expression shuttered and he bowed, shaking his head regretfully.

"I beg your forgiveness, but there is no one here who can take you to the villa, signora," he said.

With extreme reluctance, she reached into her pouch and extracted a golden guinea. The inn keeper's eyes bulged at the sight of the shiny coin. His hands clenched at his sides and he licked his lips, "Is that really gold, signora?"

"Yes, it's a British golden guinea, and it can be yours. To earn it, you have simply to drive me and my two companions to the Villa of the Three Fountains."

A bead of sweat popped on the inn keeper's forehead. Then he turned away, closing his eyes, as if he could scarcely beat to look at the gleaming gold. "I can't take you, I am sorry, signora I can't help you."

His words were simple, but Felicity could hardly believe she'd understood the Italian correctly. For what money she had offered him, she had expected the inn keeper to vault into the driver's seat before she could finish speaking.

"What!" she said, "Of course you can take us there!"

He didn't turn around, "No signora, I can't drive. I can't take you to the Villa of the Three Fountains." Almost to himself he muttered, "I must protect my children."

Felicity felt her self control begin to waver around the edges. "If you are not willing to drive, then find us someone in the village who can," she insisted.

"Alas, I can't help you, signora. There is nobody in the village who will drive your carriage," he said.

Felicity bit her lower lip, ready to scream in frustration. Ever since their journey had began, they had been met with conspiracy of evasion and silence.

"What does the inn keeper say, Felicity?" her father asked.

"He can't take us and no one will either," Felicity answered.

"I believe you would be wise to spend the night here. We have a rooms in the loft, I could make it comfortable for you all," the inn keeper said.

Just then in walked two soldiers who were talking to the other, "We're almost to the villa."

"The Villa of the Three Fountains?" Felicity asked them

"Yes," one said.

"How splendid, then you can take us there," Felicity said.

"Is the Count of Arrowhead expecting you?" the soldier asked, "The Count is not...that is to say, I have not found him to be a man who receives many visitors."

"I'm sorry but there must be some mistake," Felicity said, "Our destination is the Villa of the Three Fountains, but we are not familiar with anyone called the Count of de Hood."

"But I assure you, the Count owns ze villa, he owns all ze land for miles around. You might say zat he is ze grand seigneur of the region," the soldier said.

Felicity's stomach lurched with premonition of disaster. "Then we must be seeking a different villa with the same name, as my father here owns the villa, it was deeded to our ancestors many years ago."

The soldier shook his head, "You may take my word for it, signora. There is only one Villa of the Three Fountains in this area, and the estate is quite definitely owned by the Count of de Hood."

"The villa we seek has been in the hands of caretakers for over a hundred years," Felicity said, "perhaps the Count of Arrowhead has rented the villa along with the farmland."

The soldiers stared at her in silent incredulity. "Ze Count Arrowhead is not a caretaker," one assured her. "Ze villa belonged to ze count's father and his grandfather before zat. It is a place of most great prosperity, or so I have been told."

"Can you take us there so we might straighten all this out please?" Felicity asked.

"Yes, signora," one soldier answered.

An hour later they were back in the carriage, when one shouted to them as they rounded another sharp curve, "The villa is straight ahead of you. There it is! The Villa of the Three Fountains!

Felicity's first impression of the villa was not favorable. Set atop the crest of a low hill, its exterior washed in grey, the shuttered windows seemed to stare sightlessly into the lashing curtain of rain. As the horses headed toward the massive entrance gates, and her view became clearer, Felicity decided that the layout of the house created the bleak impression that it was disconnected from the surrounding countryside, a lonely fortress set in a sea of brown fields. She wondered if the present count was responsible for the unhappy effect, or if he merely had to live with the architectural mistakes of his forebears.

They arrived at the front and were assisted by the housekeeper, an older lady named Anna, "The stable boys will take care of your horses, just like always. Here they come now."

Three youths ran into the courtyard, all of them were wearing sturdy leather shoes, an amazing luxury for this part of the world, and all of them looked well fed. The count went up a couple of notches in Felicity's estimation. He might live in a dreary home, and have a strong aversion to visitors but at least it seemed that he made adequate provision for feeding and clothing his servants.

Anna the housekeeper spoke the the soldier, "Who all have you brought with you?"

"Three travelers, a Lord Noah Kuttler, his daughter Lady Felicity and her maid Sharon," he answered.

"English women? You've brought them here?" Anna asked clearly surprised.

"Yes, that is correct-"

Anna shook her head, "Sorry, but you know they'll have to leave right away. I can't have women on the premises."

"I understand the count's rules, however they have traveled a long way," the soldier said. "Surely he can make an exception for one night."

"Rules are rules," Anna said. "They can't stay here and you know that as well as I do. They're females and the count will never allow them to sleep in the house. Especially now. This isn't a good time," she stopped abruptly, as if regretting having said as much.

Felicity found the conversation so extraordinary, she wondered if she misunderstood Anna's Italian, although the woman spoke with clearness and accuracy of an educated upper servant. She couldn't believe that, even in this part of the world, the Count of de Hood, was so old fashioned that he forbade all women to enter his house.

"But what are they to do? It's late and they are foreigners and the country is about to tumble into civil war!" the soldier said.

"Then they shouldn't have left England. I'll have the stable boys give them fresh horses, there's nothing more I can do for them," Anna turned to go.

"Wait! Please wait, signora! I must talk to you!" Felicity raced after the older woman.

Anna turned around and raised her eyebrows at her.

"Please reconsider your decision," Felicity pleaded with her. "We have been traveling over three weeks and are in urgent need of the count's help."

"How can you need his help? I'm sure he's never met you," Anna said.

"We have papers that say we own this villa and we need to meet with the Count urgently," Felicity explained.

"That's impossible, the Count and his father and grandfather before him were all born here," Anna explained.

"Please," Felicity said.

"Anna!" a voice called out from inside the house. Anna walked in and reappeared minutes later.

"The Count says you may stay this night," Anna said and they were shown where they could stay, Felicity with her maid and her father across the hall from them.

Later that night, Felicity walked out of her room intent on looking around, she was in a study looking at the books when she sensed a presence behind her. She turned around to see a man standing in the shadows, he was tall and broad shouldered that much she could see. Just as she was about to speak, a lamp was lighted and the mysterious man was revealed to her.

The count's eyes met with her for the briefest of instants, and Felicity thought she saw his jaw clench as if the mere sight of her set his teeth on edge. Why, she wondered? What could she possibly have done to provoke such a reaction? His hair was dark blonde, he had stubble on his jaw and piercing eyes. His skin was pale similar to hers.

As if mesmerized she watched him walk about the room. To her acute embarrassment, she realized that her gaze was fixed with most unladylike intensity on the movement of his hips, and she hastily jerked her eyes upward, toward some more polite spot.

Her gaze landed on his face and she saw his features were strongly defined. His cheekbones stood out with particular prominence, their height and sharp angles underlined by a flush of hectic color that suggested he had a fever. Perhaps she had misinterpreted the clenching of his jaw when he looked at her earlier.

He must be in some sort of pain from his expression.

"You shouldn't be out alone in the dark," the Count said.

"It's not the dark that is to be feared, just the things in the darkness," Felicity countered.

She saw the white of his teeth as he smiled at her reply, "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself, I am Count of Arrowhead. I believe you wish to speak with me and I hope you will tell me how I may be of service?" Oliver introduced himself.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N-I want to thank a special friend for being beta, to this. Also want to thank all who read, review, follow and fav.**_

* * *

The count straightened from his introductory bow. His eyes were so dark that he appeared to have no pupils making it hard to judge the precise direction of his gaze. She knew without a shadow of a doubt, that his eyes were fixed on her face. She felt his gaze travel slowly down her cheek, lingering for several agonizing seconds on the pulse throbbing in her throat, and come to rest on her breasts.

Wherever his gaze touched, her skin burned with heat. The effort of keeping her eyes averted caused her physical pain, and her stomach churned with a sensation that teetered somewhere between terror and intense yearning. The yearning grew, swamping the fear, until the urge to reach out and take his hand became almost irresistible. She shut her eyes, fighting off the compulsion to seek his touch. As soon as her eyes closed, she was assailed by the shocking image of the count lying next to her, his head resting against her naked breast, his mouth moving to suckle at her breast...

Felicity snapped open her eyes and was appalled by the indecent train of her own imaginings, she realized too late that she had already acted upon one of them. Without conscious awareness, it seemed that she had reached out her hand toward the count and he had taken it into his clasp. He was now gently stroking her fingertips with his thumb, tracing caressing circles around her knuckles.

A kaleidoscope of sensations burned inside her, all of them new, all of them overwhelming in their intensity. She wanted him to carry her hand to his lips and press a passionate kiss into her palm. She wanted him to stroke not just the tips of her fingers, but every inch of her flesh. She wanted to unfasten her gown and bare her throat, her chest to his caress, his lips. She wanted...so many things she had never before dreamed of wanting.

"Milady?" his voice made her snap out of her fantasy.

"I prefer Felicity," Felicity informed him.

"Lady Felicity," Oliver said as his fingers stilled, then closed around her hand.

"My lord, pray release my hand." Felicity murmured, her voice hoarse. Her pulse rapid.

For a split second, she thought he would ignore her request. Then he smiled slightly and let her hand down. He shut his eyes, and grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against his mouth as if to assuage a sudden burst of pain.

Felicity winced in sympathy, "Is there something I can do?" she asked in a low voice.

"No, nothing!" The count opened his eyes again, and looked at her. "I apologize. That was uncalled for."

"It's alright," Felicity murmured.

"You have the most beautiful hands. Did anyone ever tell you that?" he asked.

"No, your Excellency," Felicity looked away, striving for composure. The warm glow of desire began to spread over her again.

The count muttered something she couldn't quite hear. Felicity thought it might have been "I mustn't do this." Do what? she wondered.

The strange longings she had been experiencing stopped as abruptly as they had began. She drew in a shaky breath, and the beat of her heart gradually slowed to normal. When she finally felt courageous enough to look at the count again, she discovered he had once more standing by the fireplace, his booted foot resting casually on the brass hearth rail, his attention fixed on his watch chain.

"It has been too many years since this house has enjoyed the pleasure of such a charming feminine presence," he said.

"Thank you, Excellency, I am delighted to be here," Felicity accepted his praise with a gratified toss of her hair. She looked around sleepily. Goodness, she was tired! She yawned behind her hand and wished she could excuse herself from the room. She visualized herself in the comfort of her room, wearing only her nightgown, and lying down on the smooth linen sheets of her bed. Instantly, the count came and lay down beside her on the bed, his hands cool against her heated flesh. She reached out to stroke his silky hair and felt his body press against hers, warm and comforting. She sighed with sleepy pleasure.

Despite the darkness of their room, she could see that he was smiling, his teeth gleaming strong and white in the glow of the fireplace light. He was smiling as if he could read her thoughts! Sleepiness gave way to desire and she shivered with anticipation as his mouth lowered toward her breasts. His lips brushed her shoulders in a tender caress. She moaned with pleasure. Her skin began to burn as she felt the count's heated flesh press ever more closely against her. His mouth trailed kisses in a slow path leading toward her throat, and he ripped at her nightgown, tearing it open and baring her neck to his pleasure. His lips touched the pulse beating at the base of her neck and he pressed his mouth hard against her flesh.

For a moment, she was bathed in a peace more complete than anything she had ever known. Then, horrifying she felt the slash of a knife blade slicing into her neck. Heat and blood drained from the wound that she suddenly realized the count had inflicted. In an instant, she was deathly cold. Her teeth chattered from the cold. Dear God, she was dying!

She tried to tell the count that he was hurting her, killing her, that he must stop what he was doing, but her throat was paralyzed and she could make no sound at all. Her hands reached up, clawing at her neck, pushing the count away. The blood gushed from her wounded neck, and a dark curtain started to fall in front of her eyes. Just before the curtain cut out all sight and sound, the paralysis of her throat muscles relaxed for a fraction of a second and Felicity screamed: a high, petrifying scream of pure terror.

Her father, out of his room because he couldn't sleep, heard his daughter screaming and was at her side in an instant, "Felicity, what is wrong? In God's name, what happened?"

Felicity blinked, then rubbed her eyes, feeling dazed and totally disoriented. Where was she? Surely to goodness she hadn't been in bed with the Count? She looked around and realized to her mortification that she was in the study, that her father was patting her hand in a vain attempt to soothe her. She looked at the count, who had walked over to one of the windows and seemed to be staring out into the gardens.

For a frightening moment as she looked at the rigid line of the count's shoulders, her vision blurred and she saw again the bed and its lacy linen pillows and their heads resting in close proximity. She fought hard for control, and the debilitating vision disappeared.

"I'm fine, it was but a passing moment of weakness, I'm sorry for scaring you," she searched for some acceptable excuse to explain her scream. "I thought I saw a mouse. It was foolish of me to make such a fuss about something so trivial."

"That is fine, now I suggest we all get back to bed," her father said, relieved that his daughter was alright.

"I wish you both a pleasant evening and a night of restful sleep," Oliver said.

Felicity stared for a few moments at him, before going out of the room with her father. As they made their way back, she saw Anna heading into the study they had just vacated.

"You should have left earlier," Anna said as she walked in, closing the door behind her.

"You are exhausted. You need rest. Look at you, running and fever and trying to handle those pushy visitors," Anna broke off abruptly. "How are you coping with the women? Will it be a problem tonight?"

"I'm coping...just. Fortunately, only one of them is a virgin."

"Only one. Ha! Just our luck that one of them had to be a virgin. Which one is the virgin? Not the blonde maid?"

"No, the one with blonde silky hair and beautiful eyes."

Anna looked at him sharply. "It would be that one. She's more your type than the other. Are you in pain, lord?"

"I will survive. Don't fuss, Anna." He said.

"Why are they here?" Anna demanded.

"They are just stranded travelers. Nothing more, I'm sure of it." He said.

Anna only shook her head and said, "You believe the best of everyone. That's your problem."

He smiled. "I have so many problems, according to you."

"You're too trusting. The men are a danger to you," she said. "I'm sure they brought the women to test you. Get rid of them. I don't like that lieutenant."

Oliver only chuckled lightly, "Anna, enough. They will all be taken care of."

Anna walked up to him and said, "Promise me something."

Ten minutes later, Felicity was just getting back into bed when she heard a knock on her door, she went to open it to find Anna there, "Can I help you?"

"I have come to make sure you sleep tonight."

"Excuse me?" Felicity asked.

"I'm here to sleep at your side for this night." Anna said.

"I see," Felicity said quietly. "And if I wish to leave the room for any reason?"

"That won't be permitted." Anna said.

"How about tomorrow?" Felicity asked.

"Tomorrow, there will be nobody more anxious to see you out of this bedroom and off the premises than me," Anna said, "Now get into bed."

As she was about to, there was a knock on her door. Scrambling to her feet, Anna pressed herself against the door, "Who is it?" she asked brusquely.

"Tis I, Oliver. Let me in."

Anna shot an anxious glance toward Felicity and then quickly turned her back, so that her face couldn't be seen. To Felicity's amazement, the servant still didn't open the door, but spoke to the count through the door.

"No, master, you cannot come in. You know that I will not permit you to enter this bedchamber," Anna said.

The count's response was low and soft, but to Felicity, his voice seemed laden with the threat of violence. "Anna, I am your master. You will obey me. Open the door!"

"No, lord." Anna's voice trembled. "I'm very sorry lord, but you must go back to your room. You promised me you would not leave your bedchamber tonight."

Silence fell thick and heavy with tension. Finally the count spoke again, his voice racked with anguish. "Anna...I can't...bear it...any...longer."

"Yes, you can, lord. You are strong." Anna spread her hands against the panels of the door, almost as if she wished she was touching her master through the wood. She spoke gently, soothingly. "Where is John, lord? Why has he left you alone?"

A second long silence ensued. "John is...sleeping."

Anna drew in a sharp, frightened breath. She shot another nervous look over her shoulder toward Felicity, then leaned even closer to the door. This time, she spoke so quietly that Felicity could scarcely hear the question, "Are you sure John is sleeping, lord?"

"Yes. I am sure. He sleeps, that's all. Nothing more, I swear it."

"When he wakes up, what will be remember, lord?"

"Nothing," the count snapped as if he resented being questioned. "There is nothing for him to remember," he added more temperately. "After all these years, Anna, you should know that there is nothing to fear with the men."

"Go back to your chambers ," Anna said. "Please lord, do as I say and no harm will be done this night."

"Will you come to me? Help me stay away from her?" he asked.

"Yes, lord. I will come to you." she promised.

Felicity listened in disbelief the conversation she had just heard. The count demanding entrance into her bedchamber, a moment later he had pleaded with Anna like a child seeking comfort from a nightmare.

She didn't have many seconds to mull over what she'd heard. Anna swung around, her face flushed, "Well now you know the truth. My master is not well."

"I don't know anything except it seems the count suffers from um...a form of mental indisposition," Felicity said.

"He suffers from a most unfortunate...mental indisposition. That is all, nothing more." She continued quickly, before Felicity could interrupt with a question. "Alas, when my master succumbs to one of his spells, he cannot be trusted to behave himself as a gentleman should, when in the presence of a young lady."

"The count sounded as if he were in great pain," she said, surprised to find herself feeling an odd sympathy for him.

"He is in pain." Anna answered. "However you need not worry, his bouts of sickness last no more than a couple of days. Now I must go to him, I need you to bolt the door behind you and not leave the room."

Felicity walked her out and bolted the door before Anna would leave her door. A few minutes passed and she thought over what had just happened. She felt the need to go and check on her maid Sharon, making sure she bolted her own door after she explained. Her decision made, she grabbed a robe and threw it on and headed for Sharon's room.

As she neared her room, she drew her hand up to knock on her door when a strong masculine hand reached out and grasped her wrist, holding her in a grip that was at once caressing and imprisoning. Felicity went very still, then wondered fleetingly why she didn't scream. She turned around to face him.

"I knew that you would come," the count said, his voice low and husky, rich with satisfaction. "I knew that you would come to me. I have waited twenty three years. Is that not long enough to expiate my sins?"

Felicity swallowed hard, "I don't understand what you are talking about, Excellency."

"You are here now, and that is all that matters. I must taste you," he said, reaching out with his other hand, Felicity saw him tremble. She knew, with an instinct that went beyond reason, that he shook with the intensity of his longing for her.


	4. Chapter 4

_**(A/N-Special thanks to a friend for beta reading this. And ty for those who read, review, follow and fav this.)**_

* * *

"Excellency, you must not do this."

"On the contrary, I must. Forgive me, Felicity." He drew her closer, but he didn't enfold her in his arms, or crush her mouth with kisses. Instead, with infinite gentleness, he traced the outline of her cheek, drew his fingers down over the point of her chin and along her throat. His fingers paused at the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck, and she felt a yearning emanate from him, a yearning so intense she feared for a moment that she might swoon under its force.

"You feel what I feel," the count whispered. "It has never been like this before. I can see inside your mind as if you were a Vampire."

As if she was what? A shudder convulsed her body but it was a shudder of longing, not of loathing. Her skin tingled with sensitivity, each tiny grain of flesh exploding with sensations a hundred times more intense, a thousand times more compelling, than anything she had known before. Her breasts ached, throbbing with a need that was entirely new to her. She stared at the count in a silent request, pleading with him to explain what was happening to her.

He didn't answer her with words, just cupped her face in his hands and stared deep into her eyes. "You are ready for me, aren't you?" he murmured. "Without touching you, without any drugs or potions, your mind has opened to me. God in heaven, it is a miracle that you came here at the time of my cresting. I burn for you, Felicity."

She was a virtuous woman, raised to have high moral principles. She didn't understand all that he was saying, but she knew she should turn her back on him and run screaming from the room. And yet she did not. Rather, she reached up and returned his caress, running the tips of her fingers over his hauntingly beautiful face and feeling her entire body thrum with the pleasure and excitement of touching him.

Deep inside her, she felt an ache of bitter emptiness, a longing for fulfillment so intense that her senses spun. Beneath her fingers, she felt his cheeks distend and grow harder. She brushed her thumbs over his skin. Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her lips against the strange swelling along his cheek bones.

For a split second, for an infinite moment out of time, she felt his joy, shared in his ecstasy. Then, with a terrible cry, he flung her from him with a force great enough to carry several feet from him.

"No!" he roared. "No, I swore never again!" Holding his head in his hands, gagging as if he could barely keep from vomiting, he strode into a room and strode over to a window, pushing it open and drawing in great heaving gulps of air.

"You must leave!" he ordered Felicity, without turning around. His voice cracked on the command. He swayed, shoulders trembling, and his hands clenched around the draped with a force that threatened to pull them from their berth.

"Get away from me," he said, his voice tormented. "If you value your life, leave me. Now."

Paralyzed by grief and longing, Felicity couldn't move from behind him. She wanted to touch him, to reassure him, to feel again the urgent throbbing of his swollen skin beneath her fingertips, and yet some sixth sense warned her that to do was to court the most violent and deadly of dangers. Even as she hesitated, behind her Anna ran into the room, her expression wild, and her hair spilling from its pins.

Panting, shoulders heaving, the housekeeper cast one swift glance from the count to Felicity and back again. "Take her away," the count said, his words thick and slurred. "Lock her up. Don't leave her alone, not even for a second."

Anna didn't reply. In frantic, panic filled silence, she took Felicity's arm and literally dragged her from the room. She pushed her out into the hallway and shut the door, but she didn't come out of the room herself. Felicity heard the bolt slam into place and the heavy key turn into the lock. The murmur of Anna's voice drifted into the corridor, but Felicity was way beyond making sense of what was said inside the count's dark room.

Finally Anna walked back out, "Come, you must rest in your bed."

Anna walked Felicity to her bed, she was completely drained, she slid between the lavender scented sheets of the bed and closed her eyes. Her last thought was the words that she had heard the Count say.

 _Vampire._

She felt like she was in the middle of a dream, a fantasy. In her dream the Count, Oliver, was leaning over her, taking her nightgown off of her body. He was kissing her lips, capturing them with his own, searing them with charged heat he could barely contain. His tongue was in her mouth, invading her, searching for hers, not gently but with a thrust of expectation, removing all final thoughts of indecency with hot, sweeping need. He placed a hand in her hair, holding her head to him, and with the other he grasped her breast. His cold hand making her gasp, the contact became urgent as he rubbed her nipple back and forth and in small circles as it rose to a peak against his palm and fingers.

She had never been so exposed to a man, and yet she no longer cared, couldn't think of her world beyond this bed that they were on. This man, this feeling of being vibrantly brought to life. All that remained of uncertainty evaporated with an indescribable impatience to experience the unknown pleasures he was promising with his mouth and hands.

She clutched at his shoulders with tight fingers, he pulled his mouth from hers, and she raised her lashes to look at his face. He stared down at her, lids heavy over glazed eyes, his hair mussed.

"Can you feel what is between us? There's no barrier left but physical. You already are my lover. You were born for me."

A spell bounding fever of aching passion radiated from deep within him to envelop her almost violently, a magnificent desire she knew he possessed for her alone. And it absorbed her.

With renewed immediacy and instinct she didn't clearly understand why, she raised her hands to his shirt and began to work swiftly through each button, top to bottom, staring starkly into his eyes filled with raging physical hunger.

He started helping her, from the bottom, until their hands met in the center of his chest. He seized her fingers, lifted them momentarily to his lips before releasing them, then pulled the shirt from his body. Eyes still locked with hers, he began furiously working through the buttons on his pants.

Felicity closed her eyes from a trace of renewed embarrassment when she realized what he was doing, her mind beginning to race with the details of what was so soon to transpire in this room, on this bed. In Oliver's embrace. Seconds later she heard the rustle of clothes, then felt him lie beside her, not quite touching, but she knew he now wore nothing at all.

His hand raked through her hair, his lips touching her temple in wispy movements, and her heart beat relentlessly in her chest from knowing she was about to give herself immorally to a man who wasn't her husband, a man she didn't really know.

 _A man?_

 _Or Vampire?_

"Look at me, Felicity," he urged in a voice marked with passion.

She shivered from the intimacy between them and raised her lashes once more, refusing to glance down but feeling the curls on his bare chest as he leaned against her shoulder.

He looked into her eyes as he slowly lowered his head to her neck, she tilted her head back to give him better access to it. He kissed her briefly, before nuzzling her ear, taking the lobe in his mouth, sucking on it. She closed her eyes to the feel of his lips and tongue and hands creating their magic. He ran his palm over her breasts in growing demand and she was instantly ready for more, the need in her mounting with each bold caress.

She reached for him, her fingers in his hair, pulling him into her, now longing for a uniting of their bodies and souls. He moved his head to place tiny kisses on her neck, she felt his mouth open and he sucked hard on the skin there. As he did this, he very slowly drove his hands between her legs, over the only remaining barrier to the place of his desire.

He massaged her there, as a piercing pleasure shot through her. She gasped from passion, from the undercurrent of crisp, erotic tension as it erupted at the surface. She succumbed, her body begging for more as she pushed her hips into his hand.

"You're perfect for me," he whispered against her.

She melted into the movement. He was making it perfect for her, teaching her, loving her with his body. Then he lowered his head and took her breast into his mouth. She arched her back and nearly cried out as he began to lick and suck and kiss her nipple, teasing it with his lips, his tongue, grazing it with his teeth. Until finally he seemed to bite her breast. He placed his hand over the other and kneaded the bare flesh, rotating his fingertips across smooth skin, lightly squeezing the nipple to a hard point, and Felicity thought she would die. She put her hands on his head, her fingers through his hair, lifting her body into it, panting and whispering as he licked and sucked and excited her so expertly.

He groaned, coming alive from the eagerness she expressed, raising his head just enough to lay a trail of fine kisses from her breast to her neck, sliding his tongue along the crevice of her throat to her chin. He leaned closer to her, the matted curls of his muscled chest teasing her nipples. He once again covered her mouth with his.

She almost came off the bed, as she felt him boldly place his hand on the softness between her legs. She gasped against his mouth, but he didn't release her lips. He continued with the kiss, positioning his free hand on her forehead, his thumb on her brow, holding her steady. Then without pause, he pushed his fingers down between her thighs.

She clutched his shoulders with rigid hands. Her throat ached, her body craved a release from the torment. He waited only seconds before he began to stroke her sensually, moving his fingers gingerly at first, then more and more intimately until she felt the slick heat mounting and glorious tension in the center of her belly.

She opened her eyes as she felt him remove his fingers suddenly, only to be replaced with his mouth. His mouth was on her! His tongue inflamed her. The fever grew within as his tongue sucked her clit into his mouth, pulling at it with his front teeth. He opened his mouth and let his tongue slide up and down between her slick folds.

She turned her head to the side, moaning his name as he continued this sweet torture. His hands moved up to her breasts and took her nipples in his forefingers and thumbs and twisted them, pulled on them as he continued to please her with his mouth, his tongue. She gasped and clawed at his arms with her nails, wanting more.

He responded with his tongue entering her sweet folds, causing her to scream through her lips. She rocked her hips into his mouth, whimpering. She whispered his name in a daze of wonder. He darted his tongue in and out of her, flicking it inside of her. And between his hands on her, his mouth on her, sent her over the edge. She cried out for him as she ignited in a blaze of ecstasy, in a glorious climax made perfect by him.

She heard him say something as her pleasure filled mind was in a pure state of bliss, "I've waited years for this moment with you, Felicity."

She began to tremble from the sweetness of his words, the grave meaning behind them, as she opened her eyes and looked down to see the fierceness of his gaze, his head between her spread thighs still.

"But I must taste you," he said as she felt pain then, gripping her from the inside...

Later, Oliver smiled as he closed Felicity's door behind him and headed to his bedchamber. His need fulfilled for this night. As he walked into his own room, moments later, he felt a presence in his room.

"Anna," Oliver said.

"You are risking your life with her," Anna said as she walked up behind him, "all of our lives."

"She's worth it," Oliver argued.

"That might be, but when they see bite marks on her neck-"

"I didn't leave bite marks on her neck," Oliver denied with a small smile starting to appear.

"How is that possible? She obviously satisfied your thirst just now," Anna said.

"There are more than one place to taste," Oliver said with a smirk.

Early the next morning, Felicity woke up from what seemed like a drugged sleep. Her eyelids were heavy, her head feeling fuzzy. She looked around the room, as she thought of her erotic dream the night before. Of her and the Count. She started to move her hips on the bed, and instantly felt pain on one of her legs, on the inner part.

She pulled the nightgown up and looked down, her mouth opening at what she saw...

Two bite marks on the inside of her thigh, almost at her core.


	5. Chapter 5

_**(A/N-Special thanks to Talia for beta reading this for me. Also ty to all those who read, review, follow, fav this story."**_

* * *

Felicity gasped upon seeing those marks, she had thought the erotic dream she had last night was just that...a dream. A dream in which Lord Oliver had come to her bedchambers and marked her, literally. Now she had to question the balance of reality versus the dream world as she got up from the bed and stood beside the bedpost.

"He said he was a vampire," Felicity said to herself. She leaned against the post, too weary to move. Her body felt evervated, so completely drained that evern thought seemed to require impossible quantities of energy. Her limbs numb, her mind a blank, and her senses deadened, she slid down into an exhausted huddle on the floor by her bed. She had no idea how long she was there, when Anna came into her room. Felicity was aware of the housekeeper's presence, so she simply lay where she had collapsed.

With unexpected gentleness, Anna knelt beside her and slipped her arm around Felicity's shoulders,"Can you stand up, milady?" she asked soflty.

"No." The one word reply depleted every last ounce of Felicity's resources.

"He took too much," Anna whispered, snapping her mouth shut as Felicity looked at her suddenly. "Wait there. I will return in but a moment."

Felicity felt not the slightest inclination to disobey. She waited with perfect docility until the housekeeper returned carrying a glass of something. "This will help you to feel stronger," Anna said. "Drink."

All her precautions and suspicions about the housekeeper's previous offerings of food and drink, Felicity took the glass with barely a qualm. She noted the abstract interest that her hand shook as she carried it to her mouth. She sipped the cordial, which was some sort of sweet, fortified wine, and felt an almost imperceptible lightening of her lethargy. When she'd finished drinking, she put the glass on the floor and closed her eyes.

The housekeeper knelt beside her again. "Milady, you must try to walk," she said. "You will rest more comfortable in your bed."

Felicity made a token effort to stand. That was enough for Anna. She grabbed her by the waist, and forced her to her feet. Taking most of Felicity's weight onto her plump shoulders, she spoke quietly. "Come, you need the comfort of your bed and some more sleep."

Felicity walked the few steps like a hundred year old woman. She made no protest when Anna started to undress her, but when the housekeeper tried to clothe her in the nightgown that had once belonged to the count's mother, she was filled with a burst of energizing terror.

"No! I won't wear that!" She struggled fretfully, flailing her arms and pushing the gown away, until Anna caught her hands and held them captive.

"Very well. No nightgown. You shall sleep in your shift if that is your wish."

Felicity didn't care what she slept in as long as it wasn't that nightgown. Too sliggish to bother with a reply, she slid between the lavender scented sheets on the bed and closed her eyes. When she opened them later that day, it was almost after noon. The sun was streaming through a crack in the curtains, setting dust motes dusting. Of Anna there was no sign.

There was a knock on her door, and a voice called out,"Felicity," it was her father,"We're about to have lunch are you ready to join us?"

"In just a few minutes," Felicity called back as she then swung her legs to the floor and stood up, wrapping herself in the starched linen bedcover since she had no dressing gown. To her relief, she found that her legs felt steady enough, despite her wooziness. It was only her head that still felt thick and heavy, so that forming each thought required an effort akin to swimming through molasses. Hoping that fresh air would blow about the lingering cobwebs, she staggered over to the windows, drew back the draperies, and flung wide the casement.

The rains of the previous day had finally creased, although the skies remained sullen with the threat of another storm. Drawing in a gulp of reviving, rain scented air, Felicity stepped out onto a small balcony, enclosed by an unusal stone and wood balustrade instead of a more typical wronght iron railing.

The room where she had slept overlooked a rear courtyard that was apparently close to the stables. She could hear the stomp of horses' hooves and the jingle of harnesses floating up to her on the breeze, along with the faint, pungent smells of hay, horse sweat, and manure.

Still trying to cast off the lingering tendrils of sleep, she leaned against the balustrade, watching the pale sun attempt to break through a stubborn covering of clouds. The rattle of wooden wheels on paving stones drew her attention to the scene below just in time to see one of the stable lads drive a small cart, something like an English pony trap, into the courtyard.

Turning back into the room, she started to get dressed, as she was, she noticed that the bite marks that were there earlier...seemed to disappear. She couldn't make sense of it, but knew that people were waiting on her. She quickly made her way down to the dining hall, noticing that the Count was absent from the meal. She conversed with her father afterwards, he was going to go over the books to see who had ownership of the villa.

Afterwards, Felicity made her way over the property, walking through the beautiful courtyards and grounds. She was impressed with how the upkeep of the villa was, as she continued her walk, her thoughts turned to the Count. Where was he? Why wasn't he about the place, seeing to the running of it?

What had happened last night?

Was it a dream?

If it was a dream, that didn't explain the bites on her leg.

As the hours passed, she had dinner with her father and Anna, who had informed her that the Count had been pulled away from the villa for business. Felicity had been about to question her further, when her father informed her he was taking to his bed.

Felicity started to make her on way when she came upon a young lad carrying a tray, set with crystal carafe and two polished glasses. He stopped upon seeing her. He nodded at her, glancing around uncertainly as if unsure whether to continue upstairs or retreat to the kitchens.

"Good evening," Felicity said.

The boy nodded, relieved to have Felicity set the tone. "Good evening to you. How are you?"

"Well, thank you."

"His excellency is waiting for me to serve his brandy, milady."

"Then certainly I must not delay you." Felicity said, smiling. "Please, go ahead. Lead the way."

The boy nodded and started the climb up the stairs, to the third floor, looking back nervously over his shoulder to see if she was following. She was most definitely following. As if she had every right to do so, Felicity climbed the stairs behind the servant, trying to look like a guest who'd been invited to visit the count's quarters.

"It's dark on these back stairs, isn't it?" she said.

"Truth be told, I'm use to the dark," the serving lad said. "The master, he doesn't much care for bright lights. Hurts his eyes, so he says."

"A troublesome affliction, but he copes so admirably," Felicity mumured, trying not to sound as if she knew exactly what they were talking about.

The servant wasn't convinced, or else he was intelligent enough to stick to the main point at hand. He looked at her doubtfully, "Does my master know that you are here?" he asked. "Coming to his room, I mean?"

"Why of course," Felicity said, flashing a bright smile quickly. "He's expecting me." Her reply wasn't entirely a lie, she reassured herself. She had a suspicioni that the count knew more about her movements than could be accounted for rationally. How else could she explain the tug of attraction that had drawn her to him since meeting him?

The serving lad hesitated for another second or two. Then he tapped softly on the panels of a door situated at the furthermost reaches of the third floor hallway.

It was opened at once by another boy that Felicity didn't recognize. "Come in," he said. "Anna says you're..." His voice faded with horrified silence. "My God, Reggie. What are you thinking? Why have you brought _her_ up here?"

Reggie shuffled his feet and held out the tray with the brandy, almost as if it were a peace offering. "She says she is expected. Here. Take this."

"Expected?" the servant stared in amazed disbelief from Reggie to Felicity and back again. "That's not possible. Lady, please, return to your chamber at once."

A door set into the paneling of the room flew open and Anna called out to the servants. "Where is the brandy? He needs you in there right away. Both of you! Come! This will be your night to serve the count."

She stepped aside just long enough to shoo the pair of serving lads ahead of her. Those few seconds were all Felicity needed to glimpse of the innder sanctum, and the sight that met her eyes was so horrific that she gasped and followed Reggie into the anteroom, entirely forgotting that she had neither the right nor reason to be there.

The sparsely, furnished inner room was dominated by a heavy, four poster bed, bolted to the floor. The Count of Arrowhead, clad only in breeches and an open shirt, stood at the end of the bed, clinging to one of the posts, his head drooping, his face hidden by the thickness of the pillar.

Anna swung around at the sound of Felicity's smothered exclamation. Her face crumpled into an expression of appalled surprise. "Madonna and all the saints, lady, are you determined to cause trouble? Get out of here before the count sees you."

"It...is...too...late," the count said, his voice low and threaded with pain. "I know...she had come...to me."

Belatedly, Felicity realized that the count wasn't simply standing by the bedpost, clinging to it for support. He was lashed to the bed by rope and leather thongs, held immobile by knots that looked viciously tight. Dear God, he was a prisoner in his own home! What did that mean? Was Anna keeping him captive?

Felicity swallowed over a burgeoning fear, and managed to find her voice. "My God, Anna, release him! Have you gone mad? Why have you tied him up like that?"

"Get away from him, lady. Do not approach the bed." Anna didn't look in the least bit guilty, merely frantic with worry. "Do not question what you do not understand. I beg that you will return to your own room and speak to no on of what you have seen."

"But this is an outrage. Anna, I can't permit you-"

"Tell her she must leave!" The count's voice reached her, low and throbbing with pain. "Anna I can't hold out much longer. The bonds will break."

Felicity saw that his hands were tugging at the cords, pulling frantically in an effort to release the knots. The muscles bunched and corded on his neck and forearms, and the leather thongs creaked as they stretched and loosened. With a thrill of shock, Felicity realized that the conut wasn't fighting to break free of his bonds. Instead, he was struggling to hold on to the bedpost, clinging to the wooden pillar with all his strength. Far from trying to tear himself loose, he _wanted_ to be held captive. She stared in horrified fascination, sickened and yet unable to look away.

"Get out," Anna said to Felicity, no longer bothering to be polite. She pushed Felicity toward the outer door, yelling to the serving lads as she did so. "You, Jacob, get over to your master. Here, Reggie, give me one of those glasses."

She continued propelling Felicity toward the door while she simultaneously fumbled in her apron pocked and pulled out a small packet of powder. When Reggie held out his tray, she tipped half the powder into each wineglass. Reggie seemed to know what was expected of him. Looking a little frightened, he splashed brandy into the glasses and swirled the mixture around until the powder dissolved.

"Is this for my master?" Reggie asked, and his voice cracked on the question, squeaking up into the high register of the boy he still was.

"No," Anna said. "It's for you. Drink it. When you wake up, you will be on your way home and several gold pieces richer. No harm done."

Reggie viewed the brandy glass with evident reluctance. Jacob walked over to his side with a slight swagger. "Here, give me a glass. I've already volunteered."

Felicity and Anna had reached the outer door. Anna grabbed hold of Felicity's arms and shoved her into the corridor. "Go," she ordered. "I don't have time for you now. Your presence here in the house is bad enough, without having you right on top of my poor master. You are making him sicker that I have ever known him."

Felicity made no further protests. She fled back downstairs, her stomach churning with revulsion. God in heaven, what had she seen? She had always heard rumors how some men preferred others, in her wildest flights of fantasy had she thought she would come so close to it.

As Felicity slipped into her own bed that night, she knew she would have to have a conversation soon with the Count...about her dream...and her bite that she had once had.


End file.
